Reign Dance

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Reign Dance

By Indelibleink

"Two hundred and fifty dollars? Are you nuts, you old coot?"

Jerry Lukens shot up from his chair simultaneously with the words leaving his lips, but just as quickly regained his cool and sat back down. He stared at the old man, perplexed by the apparent cocky display of fiscal brashness shown by the ancient warrior. Who does this guy think he is, God Himself? Jerry gazed into the man's eyes, and contemplated his next move. He reached down, picked up and took a sip from his glass of liquid reason: whiskey and water. Water. Goddamn water! Oh, the irony of this whole debacle revolving around one of life's simplest necessities. And those were the key words right there: water and necessity. Jerry motioned for the waitress to bring the old man another drink, and thought about the conditions that had led to his predicament.

Jerry, an "Irrigation Source Specialist," had been sent here two months ago by the Department of Agriculture on behalf of the state of Kansas. "Here" was the small town of Lorain, located in the southeast part of the state. Drought conditions had already existed when Jerry showed up, and despite the appearance of an occasional brief, teasing shower, there had been no measurable rainfall in what was now referred to as "No-rain" since Jerry's arrival. Even when rainfall was plentiful, Lorain had been a community in trouble. The drought was viewed by many as simply the last nail in the coffin.

Another problem was that about a third of the state was experiencing a drought. And, while both federal and state government officials had pledged financial assistance to Lorain, funding was tight in a bad economy, and the larger areas - the ones with more registered voters - were the ones that received the dollars. Lorain had received Jerry, with a shoestring budget - a budget which had long since been exhausted - and left Jerry sitting face-to-face with an aged Indian who proclaimed he had the ability to produce rain.

Jerry had never believed in such nonsense. Obviously, there were scientific, meteorological explanations behind the causes of drought conditions, pure and simple. But the town was literally dying before Jerry's eyes, and some folks had heard the old man's claim of the "power to produce rain," and as a result had taken the stance of "What-do-we-have-to-lose?" At the urging of some of the more prominent citizens, Jerry arranged a meeting with Chief Robert Running Horse in the local tavern today.

Jerry continued his stare deep into the old man's eyes. "Suppose we agree to this, Chief. What sort of guarantee do we get that you will produce rain, and how long will it take to get it?"

The old man didn't take more than a fraction of a second to reply. "No 'guarantee' Mr. Jerry. My word as proud Cherokee better than so-called 'guarantee' from white man. Water come by night after tonight."

Jerry rolled his eyes. Good Lord. This guy still thinks it's 1850. I should have just offered some bobbles and trinkets - that probably would have worked better. Jerry sighed. "Okay, Chief. You've got us pretty much between a rock and a hard place. I suppose you want all the money up front, right? Well, you know how broke this town is, Chief. It will take a little time for me to get that money together. But I will have it for you, I guarantee it."

Chief Running Horse stood up and extended his hand. "Guarantee no good. Handshake much better. Handshake is man's word. If word no good, man no good."

Jerry stood up, smiled, and warmly grasped the Chief's hand. "You're so right, Chief." This is working out even better than I thought it would. The five-day forecast says there's no chance of rain through the entire period. Sitting Bull here ain't going to make it rain, and now I don't have to tell the yokels in this hick town that they're out two-fifty. But I still look like a hero for agreeing to try this weirdo's mumbo-jumbo. Then, maybe, just maybe, I can leave this hell-on-a-stick town and return to Kansas City, where real, normal people are. "Chief, we have a deal. You have my word."

Word of the Chief's agreement with Jerry spread through Lorain like a tumbleweed on a windy day. Jerry enjoyed being treated like a hero, yet he was truly flabbergasted that the people of Lorain were desperate enough to buy into the whole "rain dance" bit. Idiots. Every last one of them. All idiots. And of, course, since he was being treated like the town's savior, it became more and more difficult to mention to anyone that it was going to cost them $250 for the Chief to work his magic. So he chose to not mention it. Hell, it's not going to rain anyway, so why get them all upset over nothing?

Shortly after dusk that evening, as Jerry was leaving the tavern where he had stopped for a few drinks after work, he squinted at the silhouette of a man outfitted in some kind of unusual garb, walking in an ever-increasing circle on the front lawn (or what used to be a lawn) of City Hall. Curious, Jerry walked the nearly 300 feet to City Hall. It was the Chief, of course, in full Cherokee tribal regalia, laying out a pattern of smooth, shiny stones that were obtained from a leather pouch on the Chief's hip. Chief Robert had heard the approaching footsteps, smiled to himself, and before looking up, said, "Mr. Jerry join the Chief for ceremony?"

Jerry once again rolled his eyes, and couldn't stop himself. "Why, is somebody getting married?" He chuckled as he said it.

The Chief stopped what he was doing and shot a steely glance in Jerry's direction. "Not funny to not respect spirits during ceremony. Spirits get angry. If spirits angry, no rain come. You pay $250 for no rain, Mr. Jerry?"

Jerry had to look away to stifle a laugh. "No Chief. I don't want to pay $250 for no rain. And, please, tell the spirits that I'm sorry." Jerry started to resume his chuckling . "I just didn't realize the spirits were that sensitive." Spirits! The only 'spirits' this guy knows are Jack Daniels and Cutty Sark! Jerry again chuckled at the thought.

The old man looked away. "Your money, Mr. Jerry. Spirits angry, but say continue with ceremony. By the way, don't like Cutty Sark, Jack Daniels okay."

Jerry instantly froze. How did Crazy Horse know what I was thinking? Before he could ask the Chief a question on the subject, the ancient artifact had broken into a circular dance around the front yard of City Hall, carefully staying within the perimeter of the smooth stone barrier that lay on the ground. Speaking a language that was completely foreign to Jerry - in fact this was more of a "drone" that varied in pitch and duration than a language per se - Jerry watched the old man perform for a good fifteen or twenty minutes before watching the old guy fall limply to the ground.

Jerry started to walk towards the Chief, but the Chief arose and waved Jerry back. "White man forbidden from circle. You go home and wait. Spirits say 'Rain come soon.' You go home, Mr. Jerry." Jerry threw his arms up in the air, shrugged, waved good-bye to the Chief, turned around, and walked off. Without looking up, the Chief  mumbled, "Spirits also say Mr. Jerry not man of his word," and began picking up his smooth stones.

Jerry awoke to the sound of car horns blasting away. The throbbing in his head reminded him that after he had returned to his hotel room last night - after the strange experience with 'Mind-reader Robert' - Jerry had had a few more drinks to try and sort it all out. He fumbled on his night stand for his watch. 9:33. Wow! Sure is still really dark for 9:33 in the morning! He rolled back over face down in his bed and drew his pillow up over his head to try to drown out those damn car horn! What? Somebody get married? Did the Pope declare today a holy day? What? The honking was momentarily interrupted from a crack of thunder. Oh God. What next? Jerry's thoughts were again interrupted. This time, even with a pillow completely covering his head, a bright flash of light still registered in his eyeballs. Jerry shot up and out of bed like a rocket, and ran to his window. Just as he arrived, the pane began getting pelted with rain drops seemingly the size of marbles! Rain drops...What the..? More car horns were now honking, and through the rain-spattered window he could make out the images of the townspeople dancing in the streets. Literally.

Jerry threw on pants and a shirt, and ran downstairs through the hotel lobby, and joined the others who were engaged in back-slapping, high-fiving, and even hugging and kissing! As the locals recognized Jerry - difficult because of the rain-induced visibility of almost zero - he was lavished with a considerable number of kisses and bear-hugs himself. Jerry was - in the town's eyes - a hero!

The same day, back in his office, Jerry was still a busy man, fielding congratulatory phone calls and visits from the area notables as news of the rain spread. Late in the afternoon, his office door opened, and in walked Running Horse, smiling, and of course, wet.

"Mr. Jerry like results? Enough water to help harvest?"

Jerry laughed and said, "Plenty of water, Chief. Not sure if it's enough to save all of the crops, but at least, now, the people in this flea-bitten town have hope." Jerry extended his hand to shake with the Chief, who reciprocated. "I must say I mis-read you, Chief. I'm still not sure I believe any of the 'rain dance' bit, but I know that something sure as hell happened here. Thank you."

The Chief smiled. "Power of the Windigokan very strong. Can do many things."

"No doubt, Chief. Well, thanks again." At this point, Jerry sat back down and resumed some desk duties.

"Mr. Jerry forget something?"

Actually, Jerry indeed had forgotten all about the $250. He had been so convinced that the Chief was just an old kook that he had entirely dismissed the notion of ever having to pay up $250. But that didn't matter now, he just had to stall a little while, until he could come up with the money for the Chief.

"Chief, I still have to collect the money from the people in this town. Give me a little time... Until tomorrow."

"I come back, same time, tomorrow, Mr. Jerry." The Chief was not thrilled that he wasn't being paid today, but at the same time he didn't appear to be too surprised at what Jerry had said.

Jerry spent the rest of the day making a list of those in the town who had realized significant benefit from the rain. When it became apparent that the list included almost every adult in Lorain, Jerry went to bed that night quite confident in his ability to come up with $250 by tomorrow.

Jerry's assumption, that the people's gratitude for the arrival of rain would translate into immediate cash, turned out to be just a bit flawed. Virtually everyone in town had exhausted every cent they had just surviving the drought. And the few who still had a little money knew that, as great as the arrival of the rain had been, it would be some time before any benefits were realized from it, so they, too, were reluctant to part with their money.

Not sure just what to do at this point, and the Chief due to arrive shortly, Jerry closed his office, hopped in his car, and went for a drive, eventually ending up at his favorite tavern, where he had a few drinks. The old 'disappearing' act. After a couple of hours had passed, he left the bar and drove back towards his office to resume his work. But when he pulled up in front of his office to park, he saw the Chief waiting patiently outside the office door. Jerry decided it would be best if he just drove on, and come back later after the Chief gave up. As he turned the corner, Jerry looked back over his shoulder to give the Chief one more glance. Damn! He made full eye contact with the Chief! And the Chief appeared none-too-happy. Jerry drove on, and by the time he had circled the block, knowing he would soon have to somehow explain himself to the Chief, Jerry was surprised to see that the Chief had left. Jerry, relieved that he had successfully ducked the Chief - at least for today - went back into his office, took care of a few minor things, and then decided to return to the tavern for a few more cold ones.

On his way into the bar, Jerry noticed a fire burning brightly off in the distance; perhaps a half-mile away. Even though the drenching rain had certainly reduced the chances of a wildfire raging out of control and endangering lives, it was still a fire of considerable size; and it was also within Jerry's job description to seek out and at least read the 'riot act' to the offending party. Plus, Jerry reasoned, maybe he could coerce the offender(s) into doling out a $250 'fine' on the spot, which would solve his money problems. The terrain here was a bit treacherous, especially at night, so Jerry set off on foot to nail the fire-bug.

When he reached the site, Jerry saw no evidence of any people around; just a large bonfire built from assorted pieces of long-dead tree branches and other brush. He began to throw rocks and kick dirt on the fire to put the thing out. He then jumped about a foot when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Taken completely by surprise, Jerry spun around.

"Mr. Jerry decide to do job now, huh?" The Chief, in full tribal gear, again! "But, Mr. Jerry not do job when time to pay Chief money. Now, Mr. Jerry pay."

"I know, Chief, I know. Listen...I'm really sorry about the delay with your money. I swear you'll have it tomor..."

"No matter, now. Spirits angry at Mr. Jerry; Mr. Jerry lie. Chief do Sun Dance. Too late to pay in dollars. Spirits say Mr. Jerry will pay for making Windigokan angry. Spirits say to tell people Mr. Jerry really 'Mr. Liar'. Chief go now to tell people story of Mr. Jerry's lies and how Mr. Jerry break word."

The Chief turned and began to head off into the darkness. This old coot is going to ruin everything for me! Jerry, still clutching a large rock from the ones he had been using to extinguish the fire, ran up and embedded it squarely into the back of the Chief's skull. He fell limply to the ground. Jerry felt for a pulse; there was none. Jerry dragged the body over to a nearby ravine, and pushed the Chief over the edge. It will look like the fall crushed his skull. That's assuming there's anything left of him after the coyotes find him. I'll just tell people I came back here because I saw a fire but couldn't find anyone. It will make perfect sense! Jerry then went back over to the fire to put it out but was amazed that it was burning only faintly now. Great! It burned itself out. He didn't notice that there was still plenty of wood at the base of the small flame.

When Jerry had finally made it back to the bar, he was surprised to see a number of shocked and tear-streaked faces staring at something that had apparently been brought into the tavern, and laid out on the floor. He elbowed his way through the onlookers to see just what the focal point was. He was immediately repulsed by the sight of a torn-up human corpse; which had appeared to have been savagely eaten by something. "My God, what the hell happened here?"

"Was Billy, the bartender here," answered a voice from within the group, "He just went out a few minutes ago to take the trash out to the dumpster, and when he didn't come back, a couple of us went out to see what happened. And, this is what happened. State Police are on their way."

Jerry went back behind the bar, fixed himself a double, and chatted with the locals about what sort of beast might not only do that, but do it that quickly. Speculation ranged from packs of coyotes to packs of wolves, but nobody could explain how quickly Billy had been torn to shreds. Hope whatever it was that got Billy also found the Chief. The State Police showed up, asked a few questions of everyone, including Jerry, who thought it would be smartest to volunteer his story about the fire out by the ravine. The police said they would look around there in the morning.

The next day, feeling pretty good in spite of all that had occurred over the past few days, Jerry went to his office with a renewed vigor. His mood sunk considerably when he saw two State Troopers outside his office door, apparently waiting for him. There's no way in hell they can tie me to the old guy's death. No freaking way! He walked up to the officers. "Good day, gentlemen. Jerry Lukens here. How can I help you?"

They exchanged handshakes - a good sign for Jerry - and introduced themselves. The first trooper, Sgt. Raymond Burris, started. "Mr. Lukens, do you know any of these people: Sheldon Oaker, William Gaines, Hillary Dalton, or Milton Liston?"

"Sure. Oaker is the Mayor of Lorain, and the other three are all on city council. I have dealt with all of them regularly since I've been here. Why? What's up?"

"We know that you knew these people, Mr. Lukens. All four of these people were murdered overnight, at different times, far away from each other, but killed in the same manner."

"In the same manner?"

"Yes. It's our understanding that you were at the tavern last night where the owner was killed?"

"Yeah, I was there. Horrible way to go. Just horrible."

The second trooper, Corporal Lonnie Sterling, joined the conversation. "Mr. Lukens, my position with the State Police for the last 17 years has been the investigation of murders that occur under - how shall I say - unusual circumstances. Let me back up a little, if you will. Twelve years ago, over in the next county, in a small town similar to this, there were a series of murders, identical to the ones committed here over the last 24 hours. At the time, there was an old Cherokee Indian, named 'Running something', who supposedly put some sort of curse on the town after he, I'm told, thought he was 'double-crossed' by the residents there. Called it a 'reign of terror' at the time. Supposedly some kind of 'cannibalistic curse'. It was just brought to our attention that you had spoken to an old Cherokee. What can you tell us about that?"

"Crazy old Indian. He seemed half out of his mind most of the time. Said he could bring rain. Said he was a Windigokan or some..." Jerry was interrupted by Corporal Sterling, who grabbed his shoulder and spun then him around.

"Windigokan? That's the Cherokee curse, Mr. Lukens! And this is how it works, according to legend: Once the curse has begun, the people who associated with the primary offender are killed and eaten by the 'Great Windigokan Spirits'. Eventually, when all of the associates of the offender are killed, the offender is then captured and subjected to, supposedly, 'unspeakable' torture, and is sentenced to an eternity of suffering, subject to the whims of the Windigokan. The good news is, twelve years ago the townspeople were able to locate the Chief in time to strike a deal and get him to lift the curse. The State Police were called to investigate, but the Chief just vanished into thin air.
Poof! Now, I'm normally not a superstitious man, Mr. Lukens. But I know what I saw twelve years ago, and what I've just witnessed here. And, based on that, I suggest that you do whatever you can to find that old Cherokee Chief and 'patch things up', and try to get that curse lifted. And, I'd do it pretty damn fast, if I were you."

Jerry, his face now white as a sheet, slumped back against the door to his office, as the men turned to leave. Sgt. Burris then turned and walked back to Jerry.

"Almost forgot, Mr. Lukens. You had reported about investigating a fire last night about a half mile from the tavern? Well, some of our officers investigated this morning, and found a body at the bottom of the ravine. I'm not sure we'll ever be able to identify it though, looks like the coyotes had a feast on the remains - stripped clean down to the bones. The preliminary coroner's report says it was probably the remains of an old male, but I doubt we'll really ever know much more than that. The department may have some follow-up questions for you at some point, but I suggest that you not worry about that right now. Your time will be better spent finding that old Chief! 

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